


The Grumpy, the Tired, the Jealous, and the Lovers

by Kiranokira



Series: CaiReel Week [1]
Category: Gameboys (Web Series 2020)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, New York City, POV Outsider, Slice of Life, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiranokira/pseuds/Kiranokira
Summary: Three strangers in New York City experience the glory of CaiReel on vacation.•Noah enjoys many aspects of his job, but by far his favorite is when potential customers hang out in the doorway to the café and argue with each other in heightened whispers. Provides some absolutelymarvelousambiance for asleep café.CaiReel Week: Day 1 (Outsider POV)
Relationships: Gavreel Alarcon/Cairo Lazaro
Series: CaiReel Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006581
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55
Collections: CaiReel Week 2020





	The Grumpy, the Tired, the Jealous, and the Lovers

Rehema’s hotel room isn’t ready yet, the brand new mosquito bite on her neck has her thinking about seven different diseases her body could be harvesting, her luggage has a split in the fabric that wasn’t there when she parted ways with it in Nairobi, and all things considered—big and small—this is just a terrible fucking day.

New York has a lot to make up for and she’s starting off grumpy.

While she waits on a sofa in the the hotel lobby running two fingers absently over the itchy bump she’s hoping isn’t going to kill her, she watches two other guests bundling each other up for the wintry nightmare outside. Her phone is on its last two percent, so they’re her entertainment for now.

She can’t tell where they’re from, and she’s too far to hear everything they’re saying, but she catches enough English to get the gist.

Cute Boy wants Whiny Boy to wear more layers, but Whiny Boy says he doesn’t need them and his “vintage leather jacket” is enough.

“You’re going to freeze,” Cute Boy says, followed by a rapid string of words Rehema can only assume are insulting.

Whiny Boy just smiles. “If I’m cold, I’ll just—”

Cute Boy puts his entire hand over Whiny Boy’s mouth and looks directly at Rehema.

Caught, but determined to project an image of confidence in her eavesdropping, she stares back.

Whiny Boy looks too, then waves at her down near his waist where Cute Boy doesn’t seem to see. Her mouth tips into a smile, the first one of her trip.

With determination, Cute Boy turns to Whiny Boy and says, “No T-shirt. You’re wearing my sweater under the jacket.”

Whiny Boy pulls away the hand covering his mouth and coos, “Baby, you know I love wearing your clothes.”

Rehema somehow doesn’t snort out loud at that, which she believes is deserving of a medal. As she watches them walk to the elevator bank, Cute Boy dragging Whiny Boy by the sleeve of his leather jacket, one of the desk staff finally calls her name.

•

Aisling has run a successful booth at the holiday market for six years running. Every November and December, she’s ended her nights with blisters on her feet and a sore throat, so this year, she had the wisdom to hire an assistant to cover the sales transactions while Aisling stands by and chats with the customers. She’s determined to finish this year with at least half of her health intact.

To her delight, they have a great spot right in the middle of the lane east of the ice skating rink, and the rush has been nonstop since the market opened. Aisling’s already had to open two boxes to restock the plain hot chocolate canisters.

At one, she takes over for Serge at the till and hands him a twenty so he can get her something to munch on when he’s finished his own lunch. She handles thirty minutes of nonstop sales, her mind a blur of numbers and intricate tricks for the gift-wrapping, and then the crowds thin a little, and she sees them.

The lane is lined with park benches, but most of them have been roped off to discourage the walking wallets from sitting. The one directly across from Aisling’s booth, however, is very much available, and currently occupied by two younger guys engaged in what Aisling can only assume is a fight over who gets the last of whatever drink they’re both holding between them.

She can’t hear them over all the other conversations going on by passersby and customers in the neighboring booths, but their body language is eloquent enough.

One wears a thick white sweater under an open leather jacket, and the other has on a puffy black jacket zipped up to his throat with a gray and red tartan scarf resolutely wrapped around his neck. They’re both bare-handed, but a pair of thick gloves sit on the thigh of the one in the leather jacket. They don’t seem like they’d go with his outfit.

Over their four stacked hands, only the top of the paper cup is visible, and both of them are grinning at each other with an utter visible lack of awareness of the world around them.

When one of them tugs on the cup, the other raises his eyebrows or makes a pointed remark, and then they laugh. That part she can hear.

Finally, after this stalemate has played out for thirty seconds, escalating only in how hard they’re laughing, the one in the leather jacket grabs the cup’s edge with his teeth and wrenches it fully into his possession. There must only be a tiny sip of drink left, because to the anguished noise of his partner, he flips the cup up easily with a flick of his head and swallows once.

Aisling smiles, prepared to offer them free samples of the hazelnut mocha latte just to hear their story.

A moment later, a customer approaches the counter and asks Aisling if she has any white chocolate marshmallows left, and by the time she’s finished the transaction, the bench is empty.

•

Noah enjoys many aspects of his job, but by far his favorite is when potential customers hang out in the doorway to the café and argue with each other in heightened whispers. Provides some absolutely _marvelous_ ambiance for a _sleep café._

Pointedly, Noah flips through the photos on his favorite woodworking Instagram page’s latest update, waiting for the whispering to stop and the inevitable awkward question to arrive. Americans are so touch-starved and weird about it.

One of the two potentials stays lodged in the open doorway, letting December just eek right in, while the other one approaches Noah’s desk with a bright smile that instantly has Noah thinking, _Oh, hello. Please ask for a demonstration._

“Hi,” the beautiful one says. “I’m sorry if this is strange to ask but—”

Noah offers his most engaging smile. “Do people really pay for this? Yes. New York is immensely overworked and soaked in capitalism.”

The Beautiful One’s laugh is just as cute as his smile. “Actually, I was—”

“Excuse me,” Noah tells him sweetly, then spears the one _still_ letting December shriek her way into his work space and says, “Could you shut the door please, precious? _Thank_ you.”

Doorstop has the decency to balk and say, “Oh, I’m sorry,” and quickly shuffle inside, finally allowing the door to serve its function.

The Beautiful One gives Doorstop a wry smile and says, “Looks like you’re in the café now, baby,” in what sounds like an inside joke.

“Ha,” Doorstop says, unmistakably sarcastic. He folds his arms for good measure, but this only seems to make The Beautiful One melt.

Oh, so it’s like that.

Figures.

Turns out, the question was “do you allow couples to nap together”, so Noah says yes, they do, with some stipulations attached for the sake of decorum. Doorstop blushes solid crimson at that, but The Taken One just says, “Understood,” and offers two thumbs up in a way that’s somehow charismatic instead of dorky.

After accepting their cash payment for an hour and a half, Noah leads them through the curtain into the back area where soft ambient music plays and cool blue lighting lines the path that leads to the five open corridors of beds.

The café only has two sleepers at the moment, one of whom is out cold while the other sits with their back against the wall and their laptop resting on their thighs and casting a glow out of their space.

The Taken One thanks him in an adorably courteous whisper, and Noah poignantly mourns the existence of his boyfriend. After an hour and a half of nothing going on at the desk for Noah except waving quiet goodbyes to the two other sleepers, Noah waits for Doorstop and The Taken One to emerge as well.

Ten minutes after that, Noah heads to their assigned bed and immediately decides to complain to his boss about the couples thing. The automatic alarm is going off, but Doorstop and The Taken One are apparently much too comfortable (or jet-lagged) to hear it. And yes, okay, maybe it’s been slightly too long since Noah last dated someone, but the sight of these two sleeping face to face, nose to nose, and looking somehow comfortable with it, is wreaking havoc on Noah’s general contentment with the state of the world.

“Wakey wake,“ he says, a thing he has never even _thought_ of saying before.

The Taken One wakes first, beautifully confused until he meets Noah’s eyes, upon which he visibly remembers where he is and whispers, “Sorry, we’ll be out—is it time?”

Noah holds a smile back. “Yes, but don’t worry,” he says at his normal volume, “it’s pretty common to oversleep. It's just you two right now, so don't worry about making noise.”

Doorstop’s forehead creases, and in the next few seconds, he’s burrowing his face against The Taken One’s chest and whining.

Maybe it’s cute, but it’s also deeply obnoxious, so Noah says, “I’ll be up at the front,” _bemoaning my status as a single gay man forced to watch newlywed naptime eight days before Christmas_. At the desk, he sulks until Doorstop and The Taken One emerge from the curtain and apologize again for oversleeping.

They wave, Noah waves, and as they leave the café, Noah heads The Taken One say,

“Where to next, baby?”

Cute. Gross.


End file.
